


What's in a Song

by kali_asleep



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Alcohol, Banter, College AU, Drinking, F/M, Karaoke, Older! Dipper, Older!Mabel, Older!Pacifica, Slow Burn, age appropriate drinking, my favorite, sexual innuendo, university aged
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-14
Updated: 2015-08-14
Packaged: 2018-04-14 14:41:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4568319
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kali_asleep/pseuds/kali_asleep
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dipper gets tricked into karaoke, Pacifica gets tricked into going out. Things turn out better than either expected.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What's in a Song

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kimpernickel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kimpernickel/gifts).



> This drabble-turned-one shot was inspired by the amazing (and patient) kimpernickel, who first sent me the idea of writing a drunk karaoke drabble and then kindly waited as I turned what was supposed to be like, a few hundred words, into some kind of emotional karaoke epic. Anyway, enjoy!
> 
>  
> 
> Also, yeah, I don't own Gravity Falls or its characters.

"Pacifica! Over heeeeere!"

As if it were impossible to spot Mabel, glittering ray of sunshine decked in neon pink, in the dimly lit, smoke-clouded bar. Rolling her eyes and giving Mabel a slight wave, Pacifica winds her way through the high stools and cramped tables of the narrow bar. Mabel has secured one of the larger round tables tucked in the corner, but is, for the moment, sitting alone. 

Pacifica turns to hit the bar before she joins Mabel, but Mabel sees and lifts a glass of amber liquid, beckoning. Another round of rolled eyes and a sigh later, Pacifica slides into the chair nearest Mabel.

"You made it!" she exclaims, throwing an arm out to pull Pacifica into a side hug.

"Yeah, yeah, I had to cancel a perfectly good study group tonight just because you decided to call in this favor last minute..."

Mabel beams at her - they've been together long enough that Mabel can tell by the tone of her voice she's only teasing. 

"You hate that Jeremy kid anyway," Mabel breezes, "and you love Thursday night scotch."

The glass Mabel had raised slides in front of her. Pacifica doesn't hesitate picking it up, and doesn't hide her pleased smile. Two fingers of an Islay scotch, two ice cubes, barely melted.

"It's the quarter cask," Mabel says with a wide grin.

Pacifica takes a sip, balancing it on the tip of her tongue before swirling the heady liquid back and swallowing. It's a gentle burn the whole way down, and for not the first time, Pacifica thanks having such a good friend. Contented, she sighs.

"You know me so well," Pacifica says.

"I know," Mabel says cheekily, "I'm the best roommate you've ever had."

"You're the _only_ roommate I've ever had."

"And the best!" Mabel says. She lifts her beer - thick, dark looking - up for a cheers, and Pacifica happily obliges. After a deep drink, they set their glasses down, Mabel with a giggle that sounds a bit like she might be on her second beer already.

"You put this," Pacifica says, running a finger around the rim of her scotch, "On my future tab, right?"

"That and my first beer, obviously!"

Another laugh between them, another toast. It was true, Mabel knew her well: three and a half years living across a hall from one another would do that. She knew that it took Mabel exactly four beers for the macaroni and cheese cravings to set in, and another two for them to pass, just as Mabel knew that, by Thursday, Pacifica tended to need someone to break her out of her almost obsessive class and study schedule, usually with a drink (she didn’t have class on Friday, a trait left over from two years in a sorority). 

But the setting, now that was unusual. The very definition of “dive bar”, the place Mabel had texted to meet her was somewhere Pacifica hadn’t been before. The dingy wooden furniture and dark air, cut by garish neon signs for cheap beer, was hardly the hipster-pop club Mabel typically insisted they meet at. Mabel was more indie electronica and laser light shows than ash trays and grungy dart boards in the corner. The few other people there looked like worn-down grad students or the rare, definitely-not-college-aged person who somehow ended up working in the predominantly 20-something town (and who were currently downing their regrets). 

“So, what’s up with this place?” Pacifica asks. 

As soon as she sees Mabel’s face, Pacifica knows there’s trouble. Mabel presses her lips together in a tiny smile, like she’s physically restraining the words trying to come out of her mouth. It sets off the dimples in each cheek, a tell-tale sign. Her eyes light up.

“Oh, nothing,” Mabel says, hardly managing ‘casual’, “I was just thinking that maybe it’d be cool to… check out a place we hadn’t been to before. It’s our last year of college, live it up, right?”

Pacifica doesn’t buy it, not even for a minute.

“What do you have planned, Mabel?” she says.

“NothingI!” Mabel exclaims, “There’s nothing unusual with a girl spending some time at a bar with her friends!”

"Friends?"

"Uh, yeah, I have other friends. Quit being so obsessed with me! I invited Ryan, Elise, the Jakes, and Dipper to come out too."

Groaning, Pacifica slumps until her chin rests on the table next to her drink. She's half-tempted to get up and leave, but she'd be leaving her best friend and half of a very expensive scotch, and no amount of prospective embarrassment would deter her from that. Maybe.

"You invited your brother?" Pacifica asks.

"Well yeah, see, the thing is-" Mabel stops short, taking in Pacifica's form, "Whoa, no, Paz, it isn't like that! No one is setting anyone up, and besides, Dipper hasn't even _mentioned_ last weekend. You're making a mountain out of a molehill!"

"But I was _so embarrassing_ ," Pacifica moans. 

She buries her face in her hands, but it does little to block away the memories of the weekend before. Dipper's face, bright red and panicked looking as he retreated from her, would not be easily forgotten. 

"Please babe, every moment of Dipper's life is awkward and embarrassing. He probably didn't even realize what was going on!"

Mabel pulls Pacifica's hands away and smiles. 

"You've _got_ to stop carrying this torch for my brother," she says, "and tell him how you feel. I think you'd be surprised."

"I'm not carrying _anything_ for your dumb brother," Pacifica protests.

Lifting her chin, she took a long swig of her drink, but Mabel wasn't fooled by her defiant stand. 

"Yeah, okay," Mabel says, "And there are definitely no dinosaurs buried in the mines under Gravity Falls."

She can feel the blush as it creeps up her throat and along her cheeks. Shaking her head, Pacifica takes a deep breath and tries to push all of the embarrassment back down. Focus.

"Okay, yeah, enough about that forever," she says, "What's the real reason we're here? We could have gone to The Bay if you wanted drinks."

There's that smile again, the one Pacifica has learned to be wary of. 

"Sure," Mabel says, "But The Bay doesn't have Karaoke every Thursday night."

"Mabel, you're not-"

"You betcha I am," she says, triumph in every word, "I have it on good authority that Jake D. has a lovely singing voice, and well, Dipper pissed me off earlier this week and could use a little good-natured ribbing at his own expense."

Mabel lifts her glass daintily and winks at Pacifica before taking a sip.

Despite what happened last weekend, despite all of the anxious stirring in her gut, Pacifica knows she has to stay. She's seen drunk Dipper karaoke once before, and it was quite easily the funniest thing she had ever seen. Mabel had told her stories of when they were kids, too: family karaoke to dispel zombies, Dipper's preteen obsession with BABBA. 

"Does everyone else know?" Pacifica asks.

"Everyone but Dipper," Mabel confirms, "I made everyone else promise they'd buy Dipper a drink or a shot at some point in the night. Apparently the karaoke here isn't widely advertised, it's mostly just regulars who come and sing. And tonight, of course,us."

"This... Is going to be interesting," Pacifica says before emptying her glass.

"It always is when Mabel's involved!" Mabel says.

The next to arrive is Elise, who drops down to place a kiss on Mabel's lips before turning to Pacifica with a grin.

"Pacifica! Awesome to see you," Elise says, and Pacifica swears by their grins that the couple are cut from the same cloth. 

"So, how was your weekend? Did you and Dipper finally-" Elise cuts off to scrunch her face up and make some exaggerated pelvic thrusts. Mabel immediately collapses into a mix of giggles and snorts. 

It's a miracle Pacifica had finished her drink right before Elise's arrival, otherwise it likely would have come out her nose. As it is, Pacifica flushes and half-squawks for a few moments before she can finally swallow her shock enough to respond.

"Ohmigod _no_!" Pacifica sputters. Mabel only laughs harder.

“It was just a study session,” she continues, grasping for control, “for that philosophy class we’re in. That’s it!”

“Can I call you Cleopatra,” Elise says, “Because you sound like you’re in de-Nile!”

Elise and Mabel high-five, and then kiss again, through Pacifica’s groans. 

“Seriously though, nothing happened!” Pacifica exclaimed. 

She doesn’t realize the edge to her tone until Mabel and Elise’s laughter abruptly stops. Wide-eyed, the two girls swing around to stare at her. Of course, Mabel already knows about Pacifica’s mistake, but it’s clear she hadn’t shared it with Elise. There’s a quiver of warmth in her chest at that, that her friend would keep her secrets, but it’s overwhelmed by the way Pacifica’s mouth goes dry.

“I…” Pacifica starts. She has to look away, fiddling with her empty glass as she speaks. “I stayed at Dipper’s too late and the buses weren’t running anymore, so he offered to let me stay with him. I was a little sleep deprived, and he offered me his bed and went to go sleep on the couch and without thinking, I… I asked him if he was going to stay. Like. In his room. In his bed. Where I was.”

“I knew it!” Elise exclaims, and Mabel nods until Pacifica scowls at them both.

“I don’t like him! I hadn’t slept in like 48 hours and I was clearly out of my mind and confused about why he’d leave his own room, even though obviously I was in there occupying it. Dipper slept on the couch and didn’t say a word about it the next day, so everything is fine and _nothing_ happened.”

“You mean…” Elise starts. Mabel tries to tug at her shirt to get her to stop, but she plows on anyway. “You mean he didn’t say ‘yes’ when you asked him to stay?”

The question out, Mabel sighs and throws up her hands. As ridiculous as Mabel could be, she knew when not to press something with Pacifica; A year their junior and only a few months into their friendship, Elise has no such radar.

“He didn’t say anything,” Pacifica says. 

Elise immediately looks apologetic. Pacifica grabs her glass and scoots back from the table. It takes every ounce of control she has for the next question to sound normal.

“I’m going to get another drink. Can I get you guys anything?”

“I’ll come with you,” Elise says, offering a tentative smile. 

She follows the shock of purple hair to the bar. Propping up against the scuffed bar, Pacifica eyes the bottles lined up on the other side. Elise, squeezed in between her and a man who looks like he’s been at the bar far too long, nudges her side.

“Hey,” she says, “Sorry about that.”

“It’s fine,” Pacifica says. Her smile is a little tight, but it is a smile.

“No, really, I didn’t mean to make it weird.”

“It’s _fine_.”

The bartender comes over, then, to take their orders. Pacifica buys Elise’s drink. 

“To idiot boys,” Pacifica mutters, tipping her glass towards Elise.

“To idiot boys,” she returns, and they clink their glasses together.

The rest of their friends trickle into the bar over the next twenty minutes or so. Ryan and Jake B, two of Mabel’s friends in her design cohort, slip into the seats next to Elise juggling a shots for everyone there; Jake D, Dipper’s old roommate, comes next and complains about missing the first round but then orders himself a Sprite. Tables start filling up throughout the bar, more college-aged patrons beginning to mix with the regulars. 

Pacifica is halfway through her second scotch when Dipper shows up. His hole-in-the-knee jeans and green flannel shirt are much more in keeping with the bar's atmosphere, though he'd thankfully opted to leave the old trucker hat at home. As he approaches the table, she can't help but notice he's used some kind of product in his hair - an attempt, no doubt, at taming it's usual beastly curl. It works enough to obscure the birthmark on his forehead, still an insecurity after all of these years.

"Hey guys!" he says, propping his elbows in between Jake B. and Ryan.

The two promptly start to shove him out of the way, and a brief struggle ensues before Jake and Ryan win out, pushing Dipper back while all three laugh. He shrugs and places one elbow on the each of them instead, ignoring their complaints. Dipper's eyes flick from friend to friend (Pacifica does _not_ feel a shock of warmth when his gaze pauses to meet hers), doing a mental count.

"Am I late?" he asks, glancing at his watch, "Mabel told me nine, and it's nine."

"Nah," Ryan says, flapping a hand, "Our bus was running ahead of schedule, so Jake and I got here early."

"And Pacifica and I got here early to get a table!" Mabel chimes in.

Elise shrugs. "I dunno, man, I'm not even here right now."

Dipper squints at them all, then turns to his old roommate.

"This feels like a set up," he says, "Jake, is this a set up?"

The worst of bad liars, Jake D. instantly has his soda to his lips, and gurgles an incomprehensible answer. Pursing his lips, Dipper turns a suspicious eye towards her sister, and is about to question further, when the words jump out of Pacifica's mouth.

"Whatever, Pines," she says, "Quit being so paranoid and go get a drink!"

He smiles at her. Pacifica knows it's the flush of scotch that sends the heat careening through her, just like it's her half-dinner from earlier that has her stomach in sudden knots. 

"Northwest tab?" he asks, arching an eyebrow.

"Do it and I'll kill you and use your blood to sign the receipt," she says. 

Pacifica smiles prettily at him, fluttering her eyelashes while the rest of them laugh. 

"Northwest tab, got it," Dipper says. He shoots her a wink and then spins on his heel, headed to the bar.

The sounds of breathy chuckles and ice clinking against glasses fills the brief lull once Dipper leaves. Jake D. is the first to speak again.

"So I'm pretty sure you and Dipper are the only two here who don't know you guys are dating," he says. 

"We're not-" Pacifica starts, but she finishes in a grunt of frustration. She makes up for her lack of words by flinging a coaster across the table. It hits Jake squarely in the chest, causing a satisfying yelp and a suitable distraction. 

Once Jake has thrown the coaster back at her - and missed - he takes a prim sip of his Sprite and continues.

"Look, from one Pines roommate to another, and as someone who has slept with a Pines-"

"It was one time!" Mabel exclaims, chucking her coaster at him as Elise doubles over, cackling.

"That's not my point, look-"

He's cut off by Dipper's reappearance. With drinks still in hand, Dipper manages to wave at or fist-bump almost everyone at the table before taking the remaining seat. He slides into the chair next to Pacifica and sets one of the drinks in front of her. She stares dubiously at the drink, topped with slice of orange, then glances up at him.

"I didn't order this."

"I know," he says, "But you always like an Old Fashioned after a few scotches. Besides, I needed something to make _my_ drink less girly-looking."

Pacifica side-eyes his drink - something pink with rum, likely to contain the word 'Sunset' in the name - and takes a sip of her own drink. The bourbon bites, a difference from the mellow burn of before. It's a refreshing change, and she can't help but be reminded of just _how well_ the Pines twins know her by now.

"Well, thank you," she says. 

She sticks a pinky out as she takes another drink, causing Dipper to snort into his. The moment he's done gasping for air, he wraps one arm around her shoulders. He gives her a quick side hug, closing the distance between them by a few inches. 

He's warm, maybe even a little sweaty under the flannel, and already rum has begun to lace his breath. The beginnings of a beard, started with the start of midterms, pricks at the side of her face. Pacifica isn't sure if she wants to tense, or melt, in his embrace. 

The indecision - and lack of action - don't go unnoticed, and Dipper gently pulls his arm back. 

"You look nice tonight," he says. Even that close, his low voice is hard to hear over the noise of the bar and the lively, if not slightly convoluted, debate ramping up between Elise and Ryan.

"Thanks," she says again. Pacifica stares down at the jeans and comfy cardigan she'd been wearing when she got Mabel's text. 

"I call this look the 'Six hours in the library prepping my capstone paper'," Pacifica says. 

She runs a hand through her hair, then flips her hair out, raising her eyes to the ceiling in some faux-chic pose. Dipper tilts his chin, nose sticking up in the air, and applauds politely.

"Brilliant, truly inspired," he drawls, "So you decided to bail on your study group?"

"Yeah," she says, "I owed Mabel a favor for the emergency repair she did on one of my dresses, and she chose to call it in today."

Dipper shrugs.

"You hate that Jeremy kid anyway."

"Cheers to that," she says, and they clink glasses.

With the heated conversation, the constant drinks, and Dipper, warm at her side, Pacifica almost forgets why they’d gone to the bar in the first place. She’s hits the bottom of her Old Fashioned, and everyone has gotten a little louder, a little looser, since they got there. Dipper finishes his second fruity drink and pulls the slice of orange off of her glass. Her protest is weak, particularly when his lips purse to suck at the fruit. All she can do is shake her head - as much reaction as a reminder to herself. 

The clock on her phone reads a hazy five minutes to ten when Elise stands straight up and declares, “Shots for everyone!”

Ryan and Jake B. jump up to follow her to the bar, and come back a few minutes later with their hands full. Shots - and a Sprite for Jake D. - get passed around and knocked back with a shout. Always bad at shots, Dipper gags afterwards. She gives him a few consoling pats on the back, then smacks his arm as he reaches around to steal an ice cube from the bottom of her glass.

“Get your own ice, Dipper.”

“You’re not even using it! Why get more when I could just take yours?”

She props her chin on her hand and stares up at him, smirking. It’s impossible to tell which one of them is swaying. Pacifica sticks a few fingers in the bottom of her glass and flicks the cold remnants of melted ice and drink in his direction. 

“You know, one day I’ll actually punish you for your thieving ways,” she says as he wipes his face with his sleeve.

“I doubt it,” he says, “I’m too _cool_ to get caught.”

Before Pacifica can stop him, he swipes another ice cube. 

“See?” he says. 

She rolls her eyes, and that's when she notices it. On the opposite side of the bar, a woman lugs in two large speakers. A man carrying a microphone, a laptop bag, and a box of audio equipment follows. She must straighten, or miss a question, or something, because moments later, Dipper follows the direction of her gaze.

“No- Mabel!” he exclaims. 

The entire table stops what they were doing and shifts to stare at Dipper. A huge grin erupts on Mabel’s face. Lifting her glass up, she downs the last of her fourth - or fifth? - beer before she speaks.

“Yes, oh brother mine?”

“You- you didn’t tell me there was karaoke at this place!”

Not an ounce of exaggeration is spared as Mabel slowly looks over at the karaoke set up and then forms a face of shock. Her eyes over-widen and her mouth forms a perfect ‘o’, which she proceeds to cover with a hand.

“Karaoke? Here? I can’t believe it! Imagine that! _What_ a _coincidence_!”

A heartbeat later, Dipper’s knee whizzes past Pacifica’s face. By the time Pacifica starts to tug him back down, Dipper is already halfway on the table, attempting to crawl over to his sister while making some kind of choking motion with one hand. Dipper pitches back, limbs flying everywhere, and lands half in Pacifica’s lap. He scrambles off in a flurry of apologies and curses towards her sister, but Pacifica doesn’t react. Her pulse pounds in her ears. Pacifica’s not sure if it’s the surprise or the alcohol, but each breath seems harder to take. She feels like she’s gasping for air. 

“Sorry about that,” Dipper breathes, putting a hand on her arm, “You okay?”

Pacifica nods, then laughs, trying to cover her surprise.

“Good,” he says, “Because I might have to kill your roommate, and I’m not sure I’m ready to be responsible for two deaths.”

His words are sobering - sort of - and she manages to tame her racing heart and suck in enough breath to respond ‘normally’.

“Relax, Pines, it’s just karaoke.”

“Yeah, sure, says the girl who won’t go up there once the entire night.”

With a pout, Pacifica crosses her arms over her chest. 

“I might!” she protests, “Besides, no one is forcing you to go up there.”

“Seriously? You know my sister.”

From across the table Mabel, who had heard the entire thing, sticks her tongue out at her brother. 

Karaoke starts.

John D. is the first from their table to go, swaggering up to the woman at the stand and requesting a song without looking once at the thick, white binder of song selections. As promised, he does have an incredible voice, and it’s to applause and whistles from all around the bar that he swaggers back to the table and takes a deep drink from his Sprite. 

Ryan orders another round of shots for the table. Even though he protests - “This _is_ a set up!” - Dipper still tips his shot glass towards Pacifica before tossing it back. He makes a face, and promptly goes back to the bar. When he returns, it is with another fruit-and-sugar laden drink for himself, and an Old Fashioned for her. 

“You’d better pace yourself, champ,” she says. 

While he’d gotten better in his later college years, Dipper was still notorious for being a lightweight, and this was his third drink of the night, not counting shots. Already the telltale pink was spreading up his neck and to his cheeks, the rosiness reminding Pacifica faintly of his twin. She does not want to run her fingers from collarbone up, tracing the way his blush travels. Definitely not.

“I’ll be fine,” he says, “I’ve got you to keep me in line.”

Which is a shame, as Pacifica’s not sure if _she_ is going to be able to keep _herself_ in line. 

The announcer calls a handful of other people up. Most take their singing seriously, and more than one sad country song is crooned over the bar’s scratchy sound system. The excitement over karaoke seems to settle as everyone at the table chats quietly and nurses their drinks. Every time Dipper turns to talk to her or Mabel, he bumps into Pacifica. Head a little hazy, she often bumps back. 

Then, Mabel’s name is called. 

It’s a 180 degree shift from the atmosphere before as Selena Gomez pumps through the bar. In the makeshift spotlights of the karaoke corner, Mabel’s sequin encrusted crop top sends bursts of purple all around the bar - a living disco ball. She bounces, and wiggles, and belts out “Come & Get It” mostly on key. Her energy is infectious: many in the bar dance, or sing along, and the cheers that follow her final note almost drown out the next name called up to sing. 

“What a rush!” Mabel exclaims back at the table, “Dipper, you gotta do it!”

“Nu-uh, no way, no how. Not this time, Miss Sister!”

His voice is light, a little higher than usual. The whine in his words takes Pacifica back to when they were kids, those first years of their friendship before Dipper hit puberty. Dipper might have grown a foot and a half and started producing abundant facial hair, but in that moment, it doesn’t seem like much has changed. She’s certainly feeling the same way she did then, just barely thirteen, smearing mud into her parents’ carpet by his side. 

More of them go up to sing: Ryan and the Jakes perform a giggly, half-incomprehensible “Love Shack” (Jake D. does alright until Ryan starts grinding against him, singing “Bang, bang!” at all of the wrong times); Elise digs deep through the song binder and comes out with “I Just Can’t Wait to be King”. She sings both Simba and Zazu’s parts, and Mabel grabs her as soon as she’s back to the table and kisses her for a long, long time. Pacifica collapses in giggles against Dipper’s side, and he puts an arm around her.

"And next up... Dipper!" 

There's no mistaking it's his name over the speakers; Dipper whips around to glare at Mabel, who pauses mid-makeout with Elise to blow a raspberry at him and wink.

"I'm not going," he says, "I didn't put my name in, I don't have to go."

"Oh, come on Dipper!" Jake D. says, "You know you love it. And it's not like anyone expects you to be as good as me."

Dipper rolls his eyes and crosses his arms, petulant.

"Last call for Dipper, I know you're out there..." the announcer says, "Don't be shy, come on up!"

Everyone at the table but Dipper swings around to Pacifica, all sending her the same meaningful look. She rolls her eyes. Takes a sip of her drink.

"Don't tell me that _the_ Dipper Pines, monster hunter extraordinaire, is afraid of a little karaoke."

It works like a charm, like it always does. Dipper stomps up to the microphone, turning part of the way there to yell, "You owe me a drink, Northwest!"

The music starts. In that moment, Pacifica's not sure what's funnier: Dipper's exasperated sigh into the mic as he hears the opening chords of "Uptown Funk", or Mabel's ridiculous laughter. 

Dipper flatlines through the first verse, barely emoting in his near monotone. His eyes are lifted to the ceiling, as if begging the heavens for a quick death. But it's useless - the song is too catchy, too upbeat, and by the time he hits the first chorus ( _" Hot damn"_ ), the song and the alcohol seem to be catching up to him. 

_"Girls hit your hallelujah,"_ he sings, and he flings a hand up to the heavens with each barely hit high note. Dipper taps his foot as he belts it out, and swings his hips in a way that's too gawky to be sensual. More off key than on, Dipper nonetheless powers through the song, earning a hearty applause and a lot of laughing shouts as he finishes.

He's met with cheers back at the table. Elise gives him a few celebratory pounds on the back, and Jake D. nods his head in approval. Pacifica passes him a Birthday Cake shot, one of the few types he can swallow without half-choking, and he takes it with bright eyes.

"Didja see that?" he asks. She detects a faint slur in his words, but he's not much worse off than she is, head warm and fuzzy as it is.

"No, what happened?" she teases, "Something interesting?"

He shoots her a dirty look and prissy "hmph". 

" I'd like to see you go up there and do that," Dipper says.

Pacifica knows a challenge when she hears one, and also knows how to flatly refuse. Dipper cajoles her for a few minutes more, but eventually gives up after Jake B. pulls him into a vaguely framed debate about aliens. She's far too content where she is, listening to Dipper very seriously attempt to convince Jake, and now Ryan, that, while aliens weren't real, creatures capable of interdimensional spacetime travel were, and could be easily confused for extraterrestrials. A small furrow forms in between his brows as he speaks. It's almost cute, she muses, his face when he's concentrating.

It's Mabel who, twenty minutes later, successfully manipulates Pacifica to join her and Elise on the microphone. After three years of living together, and many more years of friendship beyond that, Pacifica was certain she was immune to Mabel's pleading, but there she is, being dragged up by the wrist. 

They meander through "Lady Marmalade", and although Elise nails the wild notes of Patti Labelle, it doesn't make up for the fact that Pacifica's French actually gets worse when she's drunk. Pacifica hopes she's the only one who notices when she flubs and sings _" Voulez-vous couchons avec moi?"_. Everyone is lucky that Mabel only asked her to do backup.

Face bright red, Pacifica ducks her head and hides her face behind her drink once they return to the table. The others proffer praise and reassurance, but she continues to stare at her drink, mortified. Finally, Dipper scoots in, lips near her ear. 

"You were fine," he says, "Don't worry about it. Being ridiculous and looking dumb is kind of the point."

"But I really bombed it..." she moans.

"It doesn't matter, Pacifica. It's all in good fun, not a competition. Besides, you don't have to be perfect at _everything_."

"Yes I do," Pacifica says.

She pouts, and Dipper laughs. He pats her on the back and squeezes her shoulder, laughing the entire time.

“Don’t patronize me,” she says, little force behind her words.

Dipper is already close, so there’s not much space left between them when he leans in, looks her dead in the eye, and says, “I’ll patronize you for as long as you let me.”

“Dipper, come back on up, we’re ready for Round Two!”

Everyone stares at him in shock as Dipper grins, splays his hands on the table, and begins to stand.

“Guess that’s me,” he says, feigning indifference.

It’s not that Dipper is strolling up to the microphone, completely at his own will. It’s not that Pacifica recognizes the opening chords of the song he’s picked. It’s that Pacifica’s brain stopped functioning about 15 seconds prior, the moment his lips moved mere millimeters from hers. It’s that she can think of 1,000 different ways to spin what he said into what she wants to hear.

He’s not even good. Whatever sense of tune he’d had during his first performance evacuated two or three drinks ago, and he’s just off-tempo enough for it to be painful. Sure, Dipper is still dancing - perhaps even more enthusiastically than before - but his motions are over-the-top and uncoordinated. Classic drunk karaoke: those left at the bar chuckle and watch for a few seconds, then turn back to their late-night conversations. Jake D. lets out a low sigh and chugs the rest of his Sprite. Elise, ever optimistic, bounces along to the music, but Mabel alternates between looking to her brother with a strained smile and looking away with pained winces. Every time Dipper misses the high-even-for-falsetto notes of “I Believe in a Thing Called Love” Ryan twitches and half-covers his ears.

But the thing is, Pacifica can’t look away. And Pacifica can’t look away because _Dipper_ isn’t looking away. He fixes his gaze on her and it stays there. Even as he wobbles and bounces and rocks out on an air guitar, Dipper’s eyes are glued to hers. 

“I wanna kiss you every minute, every hour, every day,” Dipper sings, and it doesn’t matter that he misses most of the notes because it’s beyond clear that _he_ is singing to _her_. Not once does his stare shift, not once does he even look at the prompter. Even when his eyes close for some dramatic fist pump, the moment they’re open they’re back on her again.

From her left, Pacifica hears a sharp intake of breath. Glancing over at Mabel, she sees the expression on Mabel’s face has changed from second-hand embarrassment to utter fascination. Mabel stares at Dipper, then looks at Pacifica. Back at Dipper. Back at Pacifica.

“Is he?” she starts to ask, and that’s when everyone else notices. 

Pacifica nods mutely ( _”There’s a chance we could make it now, we’ll be rocking ‘til the sun goes down”_ ). Dipper’s face is flushed, and a sheen of sweat stands out on his forehead. The longer he sings, the more it looks like he’s smiling. 

Her entire body feels warm, her gut heavy, her hands shaky. Even with the amount she’s had to drink, Pacifica knows exactly what that means.

He's still staring as he belts out the last line of the song. The music continues, a vibrant guitar jam session, but Dipper sets the mic back in the stand and begins walking back to the table. Pacifica doesn't break eye contact. She pushes her chair back and stands up. 

They meet at the midway point between stage and table, and Pacifica grabs him by the wrist. Cheers and hoots follow them as she drags him back to the narrow hallway leading to the bathrooms.

A quick scan reveals the hallway empty, and that’s when Pacifica lets go of his hand. Stillness marches between them for two, three, four heartbeats. And just like that, she grabs him by the collar, pushes him against the wall, and slams her lips against his. 

Dipper melts at contact, knees buckling. He plants his hands against the wall, steadies himself, and kisses her back. His lips are rough, his mouth dry, but it doesn’t keep Pacifica from sweeping her tongue past his teeth and sliding it along his. Her hands leave his collar and stray to his neck; she trails her nails lightly along his skin before cradling the base of his head and tugging him even closer. The response is automatic: Dipper shivers, he gasps. 

Some semblance of balance restored, Dipper releases the wall and fixes his grasp on her hips. He slides both hands down to cup her ass and pulls her up against him. The contact sends a jolt from gut to groin, and it’s her turn to moan into his mouth. 

They kiss until delirious with it; they kiss until some bar patron finally strolls down the hall on the way to the bathroom and shouts “Get a room already!”

Pacifica breaks contact first, gasping for air like she’s just remembered how to breathe. Dipper’s hands scrabble up her back to pull her to him again, but she holds firm. For a minute, they stand there, still joined at the hips, and pant. They stare at one another the entire time.

“We need to talk,” Pacifica says. She can hear the roughness in her voice, knows she can’t control how low it dips down, or how breathless she sounds.

“About what?” Dipper whines. 

He ducks in and leaves a line of kisses up her neck. Pacifica has to clench her fists until her nails bite at her palms to resist going back in for another heated kiss. Every fiber in her body fights her as shem reaches up and gently pushes Dipper’s head away. He lifts his head and blinks, owl-like.

“About this,” she says, gesturing between them, “About _that_ ”

Pacifica waves down the hall, towards the bar and the karaoke set up. Someone occupies the microphone, and it’s clear Dipper’s performance has been forgotten by most in the bar. 

“What _was_ that?” Pacifica asks.

His face shifts from dazed to what could only be called exasperated. With one eyebrow arched, he points in the direction she’d indicated.

“That? That should have been fairly obvious.”

“Dipper, don’t play around, don’t-”

“Don’t confess my feelings for you in front of a bar full of mostly complete strangers? ‘Cause if that’s what you were about to say, uh, I don’t think I can take that back.”

It feels like time stops. Obviously, it doesn’t - the person from before exits the bathroom and passes them, muttering, and the lights from karaoke flash and spin, lighting Dipper’s face. But it feels like it, for her, the way her chest constricts and her heart beats so fast it seems slow.

“I…” she starts, “I’m not sure what-”

Groaning, Dipper pulls a hand through his hair. His birthmark flashes through his fingers, then disappears under the cloud of bangs once more.

"Yes, Pacifica, yes you do. It’s been years, _years_ of this, and I can’t pretend like I’m not- like we’re not-”

The momentum of his words slows. His brow furrows, mouth pulling into a nervous frown.

“Pacifica,” he says, “I really, _really_ , like you. And I know we haven't dated or anything and I know we've just been friends up until now, and I know this probably makes me sound like such an idiot, but I think… I-I think I might just be a little bit in love with you. Or a lot in love with you. And, well… if you don’t feel the same way, that’s fine, seriously, fine, but I’ve spent years agonizing over whether to tell you or not and, well, yeah. Here it is.”

His words come out in a rush, speeding up until the last few lines barely make sense. But the message comes across just fine. Pacifica sees herself breathing the same words, wrapping her arms around his neck, and forgetting about the rest of the world. Her heart thunders painfully.

“Years?” she says, “But last week, when I made an ass out of myself, I thought you… I thought you weren’t interested.”

“The study thing? With the bed? I knew you were super sleep deprived and I just thought you were half-asleep. I was about to say yes, but I didn’t know how you’d react, and then I got nervous, and then I got _embarrassed_ and I just…” Dipper rubs his neck, looking away from her.

“I totally blew that, didn’t I?” he says, wincing, “I’m such an idiot.”

“No!” she exclaims. The ferocity startles them both, but Pacifica doesn’t back down. She takes a deep breath and tries to swallow. 

“Dipper,” Pacifica says, “I wanted you to stay. But I didn’t say it. I… I’ve kinda had this thing for you for forever, but when we were younger I thought Mabel would just tease me about it, and then college happened and you got hot and I lost all my nerve. And I might be in love with you too.”

A disbelieving laugh falls from his lips, and he shakes his head. Dipper looks like he’s debating on what to say, and starts speaking multiple times before his words come out. 

“You? Pacifica Northwest? Deeming me _hot_? Should I get back on the mic and announce the world is ending?”

“Don’t you dare,” she says, unable to keep from giggling, “You are officially banned from the microphone tonight!”

“Banned? Why?”

“Because you’re mouth is going to be occupied for the rest of the night,” Pacifica says. 

She tugs his lips back to hers before he can speak or, worse, sing.

**Author's Note:**

> Feel free to stop in and say hello over at brettanomycroft.tumblr.com . I tend to post drabbles (or one shots), chapter updates/previews, and way to much Dippica fanart.
> 
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> Thanks again!


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